


Homestead

by Severina



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: tv-universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3311720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The red paint dripped a little when Carlos painted the letters, but Daryl thinks it looks just fine. He may just save it and hang it outside their door when they're done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homestead

**Author's Note:**

> Future Fic. Beth was never kidnapped la la la. Fic 04 of 05 written for tv_universe's otherwordly challenge on LJ, for the prompt "convivencia" (living or working closely with other people with whom you share feelings, desires, or a common purpose)
> 
> * * *

"Here," Beth says.

Daryl stops beside her, scratches behind his ear. 

They've been walking the field for a good thirty minutes, and near as he can tell the grass sprouting out from the spot where Beth is pointing ain't no different from all the other stubbly little patches of grass they trampled down while they were meandering over hell's half acre. He squints over at her. "Here?"

"Yup," she says. "This is the spot."

Daryl squints a little more, leaves off poking at the itchy spot on his neck to shade his eyes and look at her more clearly. "All right," he agrees, "but what's the damn difference? Coulda picked a spot over by the gate and saved us sore legs and a sunburn."

"Because," Beth drawls out, "if we set up here we'll get morning sun for the crops. And there's a big ol' shade tree right there," she points, "and that'll be smack dab in the middle of our front yard. Plus we all decided on puttin' up the school just down by the river there, and I'll be able to keep an eye out when our kids walk back and forth every day."

Daryl grins down at her. "Our kids, huh? You plannin' on havin' enough for a football team or somethin'?"

"One or two will be fine," Beth says with a laugh as she pushes on his chest. "Now go ahead and stake our claim before someone else gets to it!"

"Can't have nobody else stealin' this fine piece of real estate out from under our noses," Daryl agrees. He slings the shovel from his shoulder and gets to work digging out a hole big enough to plant the wooden stake, then stands back and takes Beth's hand when the deed is done. 

_Daryl and Beth Dixon._

The red paint dripped a little when Carlos painted the letters, but Daryl thinks it looks just fine. He may just save it and hang it outside their door when they're done.

* * *

"There's another few by the south fence," Lorraine calls out as she approaches. "Heard 'em snarling as I went by."

Beth looks up from where she's straightening old nails for re-use, hefts her hammer in her grip and rubs at the small of her back as she stands. "I'll take care of it," she yells back. 

Lorraine nods as she passes, the muscles in her arms bulging as she shifts the old wheelbarrow over the uneven grass. Beth follows Lorraine's progress to the house going up in the field next to theirs, watches as Lorraine dumps her supplies onto the ground. She shades her eyes to see Daryl silhouetted on a ladder fifteen feet up, the middle third of an assembly line that's handing planks up to Derek. The pounding of Derek's hammer rings repeatedly through the little valley, mixing with the sound of the generator as Ellie mixes the cement and the burr of a chainsaw. Heck, Beth muses, even the sound of her hammering out the kinks in the old nails probably carried on the wind. No wonder they got a few wanderers at the fence.

She glances down at the hammer before setting it on the tree stub she's using as a makeshift table and picking up the fireplace poker instead. The walkers might be little more than skeletons now, at least half of them crawling instead of walking these days, but she still doesn't want to get too close. 

It takes her less than a minute to dispose of the four she finds hanging onto the fence with fingers that are more bone than flesh. She ties a rag onto the spot to mark it for Tony's clean-up crew before heading back to her crooked nails.

* * *

"To the Dixons!" Tony says.

"To House Number Eight!" Lorraine says.

"Of twenty," Elijah adds with an elaborate groan.

"To two days off from back-breaking labour!" Ellie calls out. 

Ellie's toast gets the biggest cheer of all, and Daryl raises his can of Coke with the rest of them before leaning back and slinging his arm over the back of Beth's chair. She's glowing, caught up in telling Ruthanne the plans she has for the scraps of fabric she's been hoarding, and the thought of Beth someday laying a quilt she made from her own two hands on top of their bed makes all the struggle of getting that old four-poster hauled all the way from town worth every drop of sweat and every ounce of gas he had to barter for. 

That thought leads to other, more carnal ones, and Daryl sits up straighter. Somehow in the rush of working on all the houses, on organizing the supply runs and taking days off to hunt, he hadn't fully realized what it meant. Four walls and a roof of their own. 

For the first time since they founded their little community with Carlos and Lorraine, he and Beth would actually be able to have complete privacy. 

He waits until Ruthanne has stepped away for another can of soda before nudging Beth's shoulder. "Ready to head out?"

Beth glances around the shed, takes in the revelers still laughing and talking. "But—"

"Only," Daryl interrupts, "it's tradition to christen every room in the house when ya move in. For good luck."

"Christen?" Beth repeats, and he only cocks his head and raises a brow and watches as her eyes go wide and the blush spreads up her cheeks. "Oh," she says softly. "Well, Daryl, we've only got four rooms."

"It's best to be thorough. Might wanna christen each of 'em multiple times, just to be sure."

"To be sure," she repeats slowly, "that we have good luck."

Daryl leans back, nods smugly. "Yup."

"Well," Beth says primly as she rises, "we don't want to make any spirits mad or nothin'."

"S'what I'm thinkin'," Daryl agrees.

He takes her hand on the walk back to the house – their house, their home now – and twines his fingers with hers. The breeze is cool on his face, stirring the stalks of corn in the field behind the new homes; the air is full of the fresh smell of sawdust and newly turned earth. He's got a group of people he's proud to call his second family when he never thought he deserved the first one he got, even though Rick and the others are never far from his thoughts. He hopes they found a safe place. Hopes they're all happy and healthy and living lives full of hope, just like him.

He stops Beth before she can open the door, releases her hand so that he can reach up and adjust the sign nailed to the wall. He cut down the stake but it's still too big and unwieldy to look anything near proper, but he doesn't care. It's staying there forever.

_Daryl and Beth Dixon._

Then he scoops Beth up into his arms and carries her across the threshold, bends and swallows her giggles in a kiss. And gets to work on christening those rooms with the woman he loves.


End file.
